


I Captain This Ship

by JonsaInTheNorth



Series: Jonsa Week [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pirate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 02:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: Jon, the pirate captain, rescues Sansa from a shipwreck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [jonsa week](http://jonsa-week.tumblr.com) day two: Sea.
> 
> Please ignore any geographic references because they are all wrong. Essentially, the kingdoms of Westeros are now in an archipelago in the middle of the Sunset Sea. Assume Westeros doesn’t exist as a concept.

 

She stands in a white nightshift, no other clothing in sight. Dried sands stick to the red-headed beauty’s skin, flaking on her arms and even on her face. Quickly, as she notices his stares, she rushes to brush it off her forehead.

He shakes himself out of his stupor. Jon hurries to offer up his black overcoat, although he can’t help his dismay when her body disappears from view. She slides her arms into the sleeves timidly, never taking her eyes off of Jon’s face. “What’s your name, lass?”

“Sansa.” She says it quietly, her voice cracking from lack of use from the however many days she has been stranded on this isle in the middle of the Sunset Sea on her own. “Sansa Stark.”

Jon’s eyes widen. “Stark?”

“Y-yes, sir.” She steps back at his gaze. Something has left this poor girl scared for her life at every noise. Whether it was the isle or some event before hand, he does not know.

Jon scans her face, looking for any resemblance of the girl he once knew and called his sister.

It has been over ten years ago that he left his home and the man he called his father. Since then, he has learned much- including that his father was not truly his father.

Now that he stares, Jon finds something of her mother, Lady Catelyn, in this maiden’s rounded jaw and certainly in her bright eyes that finally meet his. His cheeks redden at the thoughts that filled his mind only moments ago.

“Do you not recognize me, Sansa?” 

She shakes her head, sucking in her cheek as she tries to think. 

“It’s Jon. Jon Snow.” 

Sansa clutches at the overcoat, _his_ overcoat, and pull it closer around her body. Her brow knits together at this revelation. “Jon? But I thought- they said you turned _pirate_.”

She says it like a dirty word, like the careers of slave owners and privateers are somehow more honorable. Jon winces.

“I did.” He motions towards his vessel, the schooner _Last Dragon_. “I’m a captain, just like my father.”

“Our father was a governor-”

“Your father was not mine, Sansa.” Jon sighs. “I’ll explain it all later. First, let’s return to _Last Dragon_ and find you something more appropriate.”

Sansa nods, and soon enough they join his first mate, Sam, in the rowboat. They had meant to do a short trip to the island, to see if there were any viable supplies washed ashore from a recent shipwreck. There was no expectations to find survivors. 

As they sit in Jon’s cabin, Sansa dressed in a shirt and pants meant for a young boy from the quartermaster’s hold, her story comes out and so does is. 

After their father’s and brother’s deaths, Sansa inherited the plantation on the Isla de Winterfell, where they both grew up. Her husband mishandled the estate and led it to near ruin, so she fled. It was the vessel of her escape that shipwrecked off the isle.

In turn, Jon tells Sansa of his miserable life as a privateer, and how he was elected captain after he and his shipmates mutinied against Allister Thorne, their brutal captain. The other information that came to him from a pirate of Eastwatch, he saves for last: his true father was the feared pirate Rhaegar Targaryen, scourge of the southern seas.

Sansa takes this with shock before turning quietly into his bed to fall asleep.

* * *

 

The fast winds whistle across his face, billowing against the wispy fabric of his dark shirt. This was one of the first things Sansa noticed about Jon: he wears entirely black. 

The water below rushes against the ship’s sides, filling her vision with sea spray. Sansa closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath of the thick sea air. She has been on _Last Dragon_ for several weeks now. It has taken her quite some time to accustom herself to the constant salt in the air. She is surprised to find that she likes it, as long as she isn’t directly soaking in the water.

The fast winds and darkening skies suggest a storm is on the horizon, but Sansa wants to speak to Jon before she heads into the cabin they share to avoid the worst of it. She turns away from her place along the railing.

“Jon!” Sansa waves up at him, and rushes up the stairs. Jon always takes his place at the helm with his first mate, guiding the directions of the ship as it seeks new horizons.

“Sleep late?” He follows his comment with a chuckle. “We really ought to find something for you to do.”

“There’s not much for me here.” She sighs and scans the ship. It flows like the ocean, each person in perfect sync with the others as they carry out the tasks to raise and lower the sails, clean the deck, and go about their daily lives. “You all work so well.”

“White Harbor isn’t that far away, perhaps fifteen leagues. We’ll be making port soon.” Jon says, and nods towards Sam. “You got it, mate?”

The man nods and Jon steps over to her. He sets his finger under her chin and guides it up to look at him. “Chin up, Sansa. We’ll figure it out. I don’t know what _it_ is, but we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Where will you go?” She holds his gaze, steady and strong. “After port.”

“Where will _we_ go.” The words repeat her question, but as a statement. “I’m not leaving you behind. I’m not leaving you alone.”

That isn’t the answer she wants, but Sansa will take it for now. At least she’s begun this conversation. “We aren’t done. We need to make _real_ plans, Jon.”

“Later, Sansa.” He barks, harsher than she expected. “Get inside, quickly now. This storm looks to be a rough one.”

Sansa does as he told her, glumly settling against the wall of the captain’s bed. It had been awkward circumstances at first, sharing the room with Jon. But there hadn’t been much else of a place for her to go, what with a ship crawling with men. At first, he insisted on sleeping in a hammock strung from the ceiling, but Sansa refused after the first night. Instead, they rotated who slept in which.

The storm comes soon after she comes below decks. Harsh rains assault the windows, disturbing her view of the sea and the horizon. Sansa wraps Jon’s overcoat around her, hoping it will provide some extra warmth. She can see nothing save the fast, heavy rains outside.

The shouts from above echo somewhat through the chambers, but Sansa is sure this capable crew will navigate _Last Dragon_  through the storm’s heart. As she so often has in these last weeks, she studies the pillaged trinkets upon Jon’s desk. A small horn, a set of ancient black knives, a lock of hair redder than fire, a carving of a bear- they’re surely strange things, but so very similar to him.

Jon’s noisy entry startles her from her thoughts. He rips off his dripping shirt and throws it to the ground. Jon heaves himself into his desk chair, disregarding his state of undress.

Sansa can’t help but stare. She tells herself it’s because there’s not much else to look at, but deep within she knows it’s because she appreciates the view. Jon’s chiseled chest ripples with each heaving, deep breath he takes. His muscled shoulders stand stark against his body, emphasizing his outflow and inflow of air.

He catches her eye after a moment, and she feels the heat rising to her cheeks. “It’s raining.”

“I noticed.” She laughs. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Only a little.” This is a lie. His body is shaking, more than her own. The sea is usually warm, but the rains tend to change that.

A brashness strikes her, and Sansa reaches out across the cramped space to set her hand against his thigh. “You look worse for the wear. Come, share the coat until your shirt has dried.”

Jon blinks, startled from her offer. He sits next to her, adjusting himself so that their bodies are as far away as they can be while still sharing the heat provided by his overcoat.

Sansa leans into him, though, wanting the closeness she has lacked for so long. After a quiet moment, Jon’s arm wraps around her and pulls her tight against his side. 

His delicate touch thrills her after all the harm her so-called husband felt the need to inflict upon her body. This is what love is meant to feel like, protection and safety and warmth. 

The monster took her, took her home, forced it to be a place it was not. But this moment is another moment of peace, that takes her back to happier days running along the shore, eating sugar cane, feeling the warmth of the sun against her cheeks.

Jon’s voice is soft when he speaks. “Where would you have us go, Sansa?”

There is more conviction to her words that there has been in quite some time. “The only place we can go. _Home_.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


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